


Look Upon My Work

by SandrC



Series: Eldritch-tober 2020 [9]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: At the Mountains of Dadness - Freeform, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26909521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandrC/pseuds/SandrC
Summary: One ant alone cannot kill a grasshopper, but a whole colony can destroy a swarm. You would do well to remember this.
Series: Eldritch-tober 2020 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950820
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Look Upon My Work

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 09: Altar
> 
> I think Oakvale is a ritual site and an altar and a failure and a reminder. It's fun.

_Never_ underestimate the power and tenacity of small creatures that have found some form of conviction. Whether a common goal or a common enemy, if many weak things bind together, they become something more dangerous than when they are alone. Nothing makes this more apparent than what becomes of Oakridge.

Jay Jay Abrams thinks he is safe. He thinks, as he hears the singing calling of the stars and the being that lies beneath and _behind_ and **_around_** them, that he has made the _perfect_ ritual. The _perfect_ setpiece. The _perfect_ stage.

The stars—their inherent randomness, the imperceptible imperfections in their wavering transmission of light and subsonic sounds— _must_ shine down in the right way. Lighting is important. The actors _must_ look like they are _in_ the moment.

The actors—washed out monochrome broken people who have seen, _finally_ , the truth of their infinitesimal world— _must_ be truthful. Honest. _Fucking_ _perfect_ , in spite of it all.

The film—spun from the blood of those unwilling, bound and battered, eyes rolled back and _pleading_ for release— _must_ be made this way for the authenticity. The truth _must_ be made out of suffering. _This_ is the actual face of humanity. Agony. _Pain_. The ugliness within.

And yet, with everything _perfect_ , that altar set with incense and music and attendants and offerings, _all_ it took was _one_ coward with a gun, _one_ actor with a dream, _one_ reporter with a drive, and _one_ man with a name to bring the _whole_ foundation into the nothingness with the collapse of reality.

_Hubris_ : an altar prepared and drenched in blood before the ritual is finished in whole.

_Solipsism_ : a man who hears the singing the stars and is blinded by light older than the dust he chokes on in his last minutes.

_Amusing_ : the dying exaltations to something that does not care about one pathetic pawn in the grand scheme of things.


End file.
